Chapter 16 #3
“I’m accepting the project if the contract allows it,” she said.
Claire smiled at once. Garrett did not.
“That is the first sensible thing anyone has done all day,” Claire said. She began folding the carrier with more enthusiasm than the task required. “I can take Owen during the first meeting if you need time before you find regular childcare.”
Garrett rose. “We will find regular childcare.”
Claire looked at him. “Miranda will decide what arrangement works for her project.”
“He is my son too.”
“No one said he wasn’t.”
The exchange threatened to become another contest over language, but Miranda shifted Owen higher and interrupted before either could continue.
“I’ll contact the daycare we toured in January and ask whether they have part-time space,” she said. “I’ll also ask Nolan for the expected meeting schedule before I commit to anything.”
Garrett looked at her as though he had been removed from a decision he assumed would begin with the two of them at the kitchen table.
Perhaps he had. Miranda had not chosen independence to punish him, but she was no longer willing to build a professional life around promises he made while believing every problem would eventually become manageable.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He checked the screen and did not hide the name this time. Willa had sent a message long enough that only the first lines appeared.
Dennis says legal is freezing account changes. I know you’re angry, but please don’t let Miranda think I stole something I was asked to protect?—
Garrett read enough for his face to harden. He locked the screen without answering.
Claire had seen the name but not the message. She gathered her purse and laptop, then crossed to Miranda and kissed Owen’s temple.
“I’ll call tonight,” she said. Her voice softened when she added, “You do not have to solve the rest of your life before dinner.”
Miranda walked her to the door. When Claire left, the house became quieter than it had been all day, though the evidence of the morning remained everywhere: legal pads, printed emails, the open proposal, the visitor badge Miranda had dropped beside her purse without realizing she had brought it home.
Garrett stood near the table with his phone in one hand. “She says Dennis told her to protect the accounts.”
Miranda looked at Owen’s face. He had begun studying the buttons on her blouse with serious concentration, turning one between his fingertips.
“Then Dennis can explain that to the attorney.”
Garrett’s jaw tightened. “You do not care whether she is telling the truth.”
“I care whether the company used her version of my life to take my job.”
“That is not exactly what she said.”
Miranda looked up. “You are still translating for her.”
His expression closed at once, but instead of defending Willa, he put the phone facedown on the table.
“I am trying to understand what happened.”
“You can do that without asking me to wait for your conclusion.”
The distinction landed more cleanly than anger would have. Garrett looked at the proposal, then at Miranda holding Owen, and something in his posture altered.
“I told Dennis I would not discuss your leave or return with anyone again,” he said. “I also told him anything I said before was personal conversation, not information he had permission to use.”
Miranda listened without offering the gratitude he seemed to expect. “Good,” she said.
Garrett absorbed the single word. He had come home expecting the confrontation at Halcyon to reposition him beside her, perhaps not forgiven but useful again. Instead, his correction had entered a process that would continue whether Miranda trusted him or not.
Owen began to fuss, twisting toward the kitchen. Miranda checked the time and carried him to the counter where the clean bottles waited.
“I’m going to start dinner,” Garrett said.
“There are leftovers.”
“I know.”
He opened the refrigerator anyway. The shelves were crowded with the groceries he had bought the day before, the extra formula stacked behind washed grapes and the brownies neither of them had finished.
Miranda warmed a bottle and tested it against her wrist. Owen watched the movement with growing impatience, his mouth opening each time the bottle came near.
Behind her, Garrett removed the chicken, rice, and vegetables from the refrigerator and placed them on the counter. He looked at the arrangement for several seconds before returning everything to the shelves.
“I’m going back to the office tomorrow,” he said.
Miranda settled Owen into the crook of her arm and offered the bottle. “You should.”
“I want to find out who authorized Willa to access your email.”
“The attorney will ask.”
“I know.” Garrett closed the refrigerator and rested both hands against the door. “I still want to know.”
Miranda watched Owen accept the bottle without protest, his eyes remaining fixed on her face.
“For yourself?” she asked.
Garrett looked toward the phone lying on the table. Willa’s unread message waited beneath the dark screen, and for once he did not reach for it.
“Yes,” he said. “For myself.”